


A Dangerous Waltz

by Manda



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bisexual Male Character, Dom/sub Play, Hannibal is in charge in all things, Kink, M/M, Negotiations, Pansexual Character, Safer Sex, Slow Burn, Will needs someone to quieten his mind, but we're heading for smutsville, dom!hannibal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4166622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manda/pseuds/Manda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 1.<br/>“I've been having these... 'dreams',” Will uttered the word as if the very taste of it on his lips offended him. “..about you” he added.</p><p>Will dreams of sex and death. Hannibal wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a beta right now so please feel free to share constructive criticisms. I post from an iPad and while I think I have killed all autocorrect errors if you spot one consider me as embarrassed as Will talking about his erotic dreams. I estimate this to be about 8 chapters long when finished so if you like, please do subscribe. I can update frequently if I know it's being read :)

“Will” Hannibal intoned, opening the door to his office and gracefully inclining his head. Although Will had no appointment, he did not seem in the least surprised to see him.  
“Doctor Lecter” Will replied, attempting a semblance of the same measured control that seemed to flow so effortlessly from Hannibal  
“Come in” 

Will walked into the familiar space trailing a hand along the smooth surface of the desk before circling back to stand by the window, unfocused eyes caught between the darkening evening outside and his own haggard reflection staring back at him. Hannibal gave Will his space for a few minutes, waiting to see if his friend had settled before walking to join him at the window

“Is everything alright, Will?” Hannibal’s voice flowed gently into the silence, his voice thick with evening accent. Will's mind filled in the blanks unprompted. He'd been sketching at his desk, enjoying a glass of wine and the solitude. It's quiet in the office, Hannibal probably heard him enter the waiting room. He'd not come immediately to see who is was, Will imagined him listening, knowing it was him from the measured pacing. From the weight and speed of the steps. “Will?” Hannibal prompted, breaking him from his thoughts.  
“Sorry” he mumbled, running a hand through his windswept hair. “I don't quite know...”

Hannibal watched as much as heard the man before him trail off. Gently resting a hand on his shoulder he led Will to sit on the nearby chaise. Will following perfectly. Hannibal's mind briefly indulged the idea that empathy such as his combined with his physical fitness would make for a truly wonderful dance partner. He busied himself pouring Will a glass of wine and topping up his own. A Syrah, too dark to properly drink without a meal but it was the thick weight of the grapes that he had craved moments before and Will's unexpected arrival only encouraged his appetite for the sweet darkness of the liquid. Yes, Will would make a beautiful dance partner, he mused, idly humming a waltz as he carried their glasses over. He sat next to Will and watched as Will brought the glass to his lips, paused, remembered to inhale the scent first, and then took a sip. Hannibal used his own actions to hide the slip of a smile that curved his lips. His boy was learning. 

They sat in silence for a time, more comfortable for Hannibal than Will. The former was accustomed to waiting for confessions, while the reason for Will's visit burned unsaid in his throat. 

The pair fell into matched breathing, Hannibal able to feel the rise and fall of the younger man's chest where their forearms gently touched. As such Hannibal blinked a slow blink and opened his eyes at the exact moment Will began to speak. He hid a knowing smile. 

“I've been having these dreams” Will uttered the word as if the very taste of it on his lips offended him. “About you” he added.

“What is the nature of these dreams, Will?” Will laughed, a breathy self-deprecating thing which Hannibal had grown to love indicating, as ever it did, some new-to-bare corner of the other man's psyche.

“Sex. And death” 

“My death, or yours?” 

Will laughed again. “And here I was worrying about confessing sex dreams to my psychiatrist”

“It is perfectly natural to have sexual thoughts involving one's psychiatrist, Will. Besides, I am your friend” he reminded, the last word soft and promising on his tongue

“And is it 'natural' to have such dreams involving a friend, Doctor?” Will countered, defensive

“That” Hannibal paused to sip his wine “..depends on the friend”

“You kill me” Will confesses

“And how do you feel when you wake?”

“Lonely” 

“And was it loneliness that brought you to my door?”

Will turns to look at Hannibal, surprised – perhaps – by the boldness of the suggestion. Surprised at the truth in it. A truth he perhaps hadn't quite understood. That Will was here not to see his almost-Psychiatrist, but to seek something altogether more human, more humble. Companionship.

“I thought you might let me, uh, work from here this evening” Will stumbled over the words, turning to hide his eyes “The case...” he added, unnecessarily.

“I was about to retire into the main body of the house, Will. But you would be welcome to join me there?” Hannibal felt his voice lift, the intonation of a question where none was needed. Such was the vulnerability flickering live in the man next to him. “Perhaps...” - a mischievous addition immediately negating the questioning tone “- we could speak more of this dream over another drink.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2.
> 
> “We have never spoken about your sexuality, Will” Hannibal's smooth voice breaks into his musings.  
> “It's somewhat .. 'dormant'” Will picks the word carefully  
> “Clearly not in your dreams”
> 
> Will dreams of sex and death. Hannibal wants to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta right now so please feel free to share constructive criticisms. I post from an iPad and while I think I have killed all autocorrect errors if you spot one consider me as embarrassed as Will talking about his erotic dreams. I estimate this to be about 8 chapters long when finished so if you like, please do subscribe. I can update frequently if I know it's being read :)

Will let his body sink into the supportive arms of Hannibal's fireside chair. Of course he had a fireside spot for sitting with a glass of whisky. He imagined him here alone, listening to something classical that Will would recognise, but not be able to place; shirt sleeves immaculately folded half way up his forearms, never scrunched, formal even in his casual baring of skin. Measured. Restrained. Will's mind flicked back to his dream, the extremely *un*restrained Hannibal conjured by his mind, a predator beautiful and dark, like a lynx or.. no, Will pushed the stag from his mind. In this Hannibal was feline, accepting the sensuous affections he plied him with before turning on him in violent power. This, Will sighed, is why he was a dog person.

“We have never spoken about your sexuality, Will” Hannibal's smooth voice breaks into his musings. 

“It's somewhat .. 'dormant'” Will picks the word carefully

“Clearly not in your dreams”

“Well..” will inclines his glass towards the Doctor as if to concede the point. A tired sigh escapes him. “I suppose I would define myself as bisexual. I so rarely connect with a person, it seems unreasonable to then curtail that further by fussing about their physical attributes.”

“Unreasonable does not stop a majority of the population”

“Perhaps. I don't know, I appreciate the different.. energies. Intimacy with a woman isn't like intimacy with a man” Will treads on eggshells with his language. Hannibal smiles

“Does this topic make you uncomfortable, Will? I assure you there is no need. I am not a virgin” Will laughs, a small surprised sound

“I had guessed as much but” Will paused. Suddenly sensing something, a kinship “You as well?”

“I favour the term pansexual, personally. I have found myself attracted to any number of genders, yes. You had assumed I was straight?”

“Well Alana..”

“Indeed” with a raise of the brow that pointed to the hypocrisy of the assumption.

“Well so this just became uncomfortable” Will shifted in his seat

“How so?”

“Well if we're both.. we could.. and… the dream” Will's voice becoming less steady with each aborted sentence. He stopped, staring at his glass as if the meagre volume of alcohol he had consumed could somehow be held responsible for this awkward situation.

“Will, we are both adults. We could, of course, engage in sexual activity with one another but equally we can recognise that not all attractions need to be acted upon and simply discuss the matter without shame.” Hannibal’s voice was reassuring, soothing, but drew a disappointment from Will he didn't want to examine

“Maybe, but it's late and I disturbed you and...”

“Will” Hannibal interrupted, voice suddenly no longer warm but strong, steeling, cold even as it set alight all that it fell upon “tell me about your dream. Who approaches who?”

“You..” Will begins, without even considering that he need not reply. Not in response to that voice, that very not-professional voice .. “You seduce me”

“Where does this seduction take place?”

“Your office”

“And are you willing?”

“Yes.” and then he adds, softly hanging his head, a familiar shame glancing over his features “very”

“I see. So in your dream you wish for me to seduce you in my office, so you come to my office..”

“Hannibal!” Will protests, and the Doctor quietens. Will however suddenly finds himself without words. His shoulders drop with defeat. 

“So you come to my office, perhaps to shock or repulse me with this information? Or to spur me to act on it?” Will stays silent “It seems you would have been comfortable either way.” Another small pause before Hannibal adds “So long as I took the decision away from you” Wills eyes snap up, bright blue against cherry-wood, flailing for words. Finding none. “Did I take the decision from you in your dream, Will?” Will nods, still without words. “Before killing you? Before taking all your decisions away, permanently?” Will sighed, again, replaying in his mind how the hell he got here this evening. Wishing he could undo it, and yet… relieved that it is now in play. 

“Messed up, right?” Will tries for levity, but it comes out broken, as if he seeks reassurance.

“According to some the desire to have control taken away from one during the sexual act is a pathology. To others it is a lifestyle choice.”

“And you?”

“I prefer to keep control” Hannibal answers, low and rich, wilfully misconstruing the question and settling heat to pool in Will's stomach, he laughs, surprised and incredulous

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Perhaps I am merely seeking to encourage you to explore this facet of your sexuality”

“With you?”

“I am your psychiatrist, Will”

“Earlier you were my friend”

“Perhaps I am both”

“Yeah well I don't think whips and chains are really my thing, Doctor” Hannibal smiles slowly

“No. Nothing so gaudy and brash for you. You would need the viscera of it all. To be restrained by hand, not tools. To be pinned down by a worthy adversary. You wouldn't give up. Not willingly. You wouldn't step up to the St Christopher and allow yourself to be strapped. You'd want to be taken down..” Hannibal has the grace to look aside as Will shifts to conceal the beginnings of an erection..

“Uh, wow, you learn all this at Shrink School” Will desperately tries to deflect feeling like an awkward teenager

“I believe I have explained that I am not a virgin, Will” Will can only assume that Hannibal means. That he's. He has.. 

“Oh” the small word, barely a breath and a shape of the lips, falls from Will as he realises and Hannibal seems to sit taller. His entire being conveying pride at the connections being made in front of him as Will realises that not only has he done this, to people in the past, but that he has thought about doing it with Will, to Will, thought about what he would need and.. got it right. 

Hannibal refills their glasses. Will sips the refreshed liquid, grateful for the distraction. The silence is less comfortable now. He has the urge to run away. Hannibal watches the tension mount in him until moments before the other man was going to stand and make his excuses. 

“Will..” Will is shaken from his inner panic “Go home” the words register with another flash of disappointment he doesn't want to analyse “I want you to feed your dogs, leave a note for the neighbour, pick up a change of clothes and if you still feel you need.. reassurance after that, drive back and stay in my guest room tonight.” Will glanced at his watch automatically; just after 8pm. He could be back by 10pm. Honestly he didn't see the point. It was a long drive and he may as well be uncomfortable in his own bed as in Hannibal's spare room, and yet. Somehow. He already knew that he'd be back.  
When he looked up, he could see that Hannibal knew it too. He nodded and stood. He left without saying another word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You came back” Hannibal stated in his 'expressing the obvious' tone, softly shutting the front door behind him. Will looked confused for a moment before he replied.  
> “I'd sort of forgotten it was a choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I have a beta now, the lovely @Archivewarning is keeping an eye on me so the marked improvement should be credited there and any remaining mistakes or poor word choices are totally mine. Kudos makes my world go round and definitely makes me write faster #justsaying. Enjoy!

Hannibal had mixed motives sending Will away. He had no doubt that the dogs would have managed for one night and he would usually take great pleasure in dressing the other man in his own clothes, loaned for the day – or longer… But he needed the time to prepare and, of course, allow Will the opportunity to make the decision to come back. Hannibal had no doubt that he would, but he did like to allow the other man the space to come to the conclusion himself. Coercion, in this, is not fun.

Hannibal was a man of his word, so Will would be sleeping in the spare room. He headed up the stairs to crack open the window so the space might air, taking a moment to smooth a crease from the coverlet and turn the dimmer down on the lights leaving the room in a soft, welcoming glow. He took pleasure in the simple actions, domestic and measured, deliberate in every detail to counter the flood of images assaulting his mind. His hands ached to feel Will struggle beneath him, to witness him break physically as beautifully as he had broken emotionally. To have Will’s mind under his influence was an intoxicating pleasure but to think he might possess the same control over his body, even momentarily, left Hannibal awash with a want so powerful as to threaten his carefully constructed facade. He checked his watch as he stocked the guest bathroom with fresh towels, 9:15pm. Will should be on his way back by now. 

***

Will forced himself to drive within the limit, measured his breaths, and willed his blood to flow more slowly through his veins. He focused on the slip of dark road ahead and tried to remain in the moment, not skipping ahead to the 'whats' and 'ifs' his evening could hold. He was just driving to Hannibal's. He'd been there a little over an hour ago, and he'd be back there in... 40 mins. The word “reassurance” rang in his mind proving to be anything but reassuring. Hannibal couldn't mean that… But what else might he have meant? Will's mind only too readily provided images, Hannibal commanding him, he would struggle, but Hannibal was stronger than he looked, it’s possible he could be overpowered, that reasoned voice suggesting things so beyond reason they simultaneously froze and boiled his blood. Fragments of his dream, re-imagined for reality. Will shook his head and focused back on the road. The barrage of fantasy in his mind quietened, but did not cease entirely.

***

Immediate housework complete, Hannibal stepped into the bathroom to freshen up. He applied a darker cologne, a more menacing scent and one he rarely wore; too dark for therapeutic work, too distinct for hunting, but perfect for what he had in mind. Then, to the kitchen to make some tea. It would not do to pass the time drinking alcohol, not when he wanted to enjoy it with company, and not when he might need his wits about him later.

 

By the time Will pulled up outside, he had all but convinced himself he had imagined the 'insinuations' earlier in the evening and accordingly his physical body, at least, was much calmer. He felt tired, heavy-limbed, and glad to be back where he could be assured of a comfortable seat and an expensive drink. Perhaps, he mused, he'd bring this latest delusion to their next therapy session? 

Hannibal answered the door, blocking it as he was wont to do then making a show of stepping aside to allow Will to enter. This, his customary style, was familiar and drew a small smile from his guest.

“You came back” Hannibal stated in his 'expressing the obvious' tone, softly shutting the front door behind him. Will looked confused for a moment before he replied.

“I'd sort of forgotten it was a choice.” Hannibal hummed a noise of recognition that Will thought could easily have implied that it wasn't a choice at all, free will being such a malleable concept in the Doctor's presence, before they headed back towards the re-stoked fire. 

A contented silence fell between the two men, punctuated only by pops and cracks from the flames. Will caught himself imagining what it would like to have his dogs here, to have someone to sit with on a regular basis in the evenings. He supposed, at heart, humans were still pack animals and the draw to sit together around a fire spoke to what Jung described as the collective unconscious. He watched Hannibal writing carefully in a brown leather notebook. Not one of his patient record books, Will noted, softer, less severe. Personal, probably. He wondered if Hannibal ever longed for company. Assuming- Will stopped himself, in all this he'd never stopped to think that Hannibal might have a lover. He took a sip of his drink, pressed into his hand earlier as he sat, now warmed from his hands and the glow of the fire. Hannibal was a thing of contrasts Will couldn't make out. In some ways Will had assumed him asexual, above the base instinct to fuck and rutt… In others, Will saw the appreciation Hannibal took from art and music and cast him as a perfect lothario, consuming lovers as he consumed a fine meal. 

“Will, you have been staring at me now for some while. Is something bothering you?” Hannibal didn't look up from his writing seemingly unaware of the other man’s eyes on him. 

“I was wondering,” Will finished his drink in a single gulp earning the slightest breath of a sigh from Hannibal who, likely, disapproved, “..about your personal life” he chose the words carefully yet still felt weighed down by them as they hit the air between them. Lies by omission. Disappointing. 

“It's almost eleven. One might conclude this is my personal life you are currently occupying.” This time Hannibal set his notebook and pen aside, and laid his hands to rest on his knee, focusing on Will with a soft smile. Will laughed.

“Fair point” he conceded softly. Another short silence fell; Will tried to keep his eyes from Hannibal's.

“Would you like to re-attempt your answer?” - a voice laden with amusement, soft with the hour and the alcohol, certainly. Arguably also affection. 

“I was wondering” Will resumed carefully “about the nature and existence of your sex life”. Better. More accurate. Not entirely true, but close enough.

“Ah. I see” A smile, and then, “I suspect that raised some questions”. Will laughed, an under-used thing, self effacing but warm. He understood he was being lead towards boldness. Hannibal smiled at him, waiting. The answers would doubtlessly be his, if he could form the questions. Curious, perhaps, as to what he would ask. Will saw himself in Hannibal's place, holding food out to a new pup - patient, willing to earn his trust, not making the first move. Will reached for the bottle of whisky, inclining it by way of question, Hannibal nodded, and Will refilled his glass mentally separating the myriad of questions that whirred inside his mind.

“When was the last time you had sex?” Will enunciated each word clearly, refusing to shy away from the challenge. Hannibal was delighted, instantly perceiving the question with the depth it was designed. More subtle than asking if he had a current lover, more open than asking if he was interested or sexually active at all. A pleasing parody of a masculine staple. Clever. 

“Around a month ago.” Hannibal answered then, as a reward for Will's bravery and so as not to seem in the least bit closed to this topic of conversation added “It was a one-night arrangement”.

“What was their name?” Hannibal swelled with affection for the man in front of him. A simple enough question yet the name would both likely indicate if it was a mutual acquaintance and reveal the gender of his lover.

“His name was Luc.” Will turned the new information over in his mind. Hannibal taking male lovers, in the time Will has known him. Surprising, and not. He revised his own mental 'profile' of the man.

“You called yourself pansexual, not bisexual.” A statement.

“Correct,” a pause, “while I suppose the more common term would not be inaccurate per se, 'Pansexual' is more exact, encompassing as it does the breadth of gender and sexuality of the human condition”.

“You'll sleep with anyone?” 

“Anyone I want.” the correction came dark and powerful. Will suspected the truth in it was absolute. Hannibal was dangerous, formidable, and hard to shake. There was no doubt in Will's mind he was equally inescapable in his sexual endeavours. He finished his second drink of the second part of their evening and felt it round out the corners off his fear. He took a breath and followed the statement the only way he saw possible.

“Do you want to sleep with me?”

Hannibal looked at the man in front of him. The man who collected strays. From the dogs in his home to the killers in his mind; a holding pattern for the otherwise lost, neglected, unseen and misunderstood. A sublimation in the physical or psychological definitions. Screaming for boundaries, containment and edges desperate to, himself, be 'collected'. 

“That is but one facet of my interest in you, William.” He said sincerely. Will could feel his mind splitting open like a seed. The shoot that carved the two halves growing lush and strong under Hannibal's honesty. He pushed away questions of “why me” and the sudden awareness of the dog hair on his clothes and the tangles in his hair as he ran a nervous hand through it, missing the whisky tumbler no longer occupying his hand. His remaining questions evaporated. 

“Another we touched on earlier this evening” Hannibal prompted. Will couldn't respond. After another small silence Hannibal continued “A form of reassurance appealing enough that you would undertake a 2hr round trip in order to chance further exploration of the subject”

“You're talking about...” Will trailed off. He wasn't sure of anything at this moment.

“BDSM. Power exchange. Acts of consensual sexual violence you may find extremely cathartic”.

“With you...”

“If you would like, yes.”

 

Will pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and watched the patterns emerge. Hannibal wanted to encourage him to explore his sexuality. Hannibal. His perfectly tailored unshakable shrink wanted to pin him down and take his decisions away and Will more than wanted to let him. He craved it so completely that he wondered how he’d gotten so far without. It burned in his chest like a minute without breath and the possibility of surrendering, of submitting for a while… He stared at the man before him, suddenly acutely aware that he couldn't remember the last time he had someone else's hands on his body in anything other than a medical capacity. The thought of Hannibal's hands, known so well to him, wrapped around a pencil or a knife, wrapped around his wrists – holding him firm. Or his dick.. Will's hindbrain slammed the thought forward silencing the more refined imagines with a sudden and desperate need to feel Hannibal's grip around his growing erection. Will shifted awkwardly in his seat.

 

“I took the liberty of drawing up something of a starting point.” Hannibal passed him the notebook he'd been writing in earlier. Will moved the ribbon to open the last used page. In Hannibal's perfect script there was a list of 'activities' and space to the right for Will to indicate which he would like to do, what he would not be willing to do, and a third option entitled 'would consent under duress'. “I thought we might discuss it before we retire to our respective beds”.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something feral in fine tailoring... 
> 
> (aka 'Hannibal sends Will to bed'.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolutely loving working with my new beta, @Archivewarning, who is keeping an keen eye on my grammar and characterisation. Any remaining mistakes or poor word choices are totally mine. Slightly altered the tags to reflect where this is going (hint: BDSM and smut) and excited to see what form that takes. Kudos/comments are the only way I can know if this is working so keep them coming, it really does help! x

Will tried to attend to the list of activities he held in his hand but his mind spun with information.

He was distracted by the amazing supple leather of the journal, the flawless calligraphy, the question of whether Lecter owned a simple ballpoint pen and whether this painstaking attention to detail permeated all he turned his attentions to. (Will thought he knew the answer to that last part.) Adrenaline buffeted him from all sides making it hard to focus. Fear and lust warred within him and in the mixing created something new, something powerful. Every part of his being felt coiled. His breath came short, his skin burned, and the sense that he had stepped into the den of something dangerous and glorious weighed in his stomach like a hot stone.

“Breathe”

The word hit the air between them and seemed to hang there momentarily before it reached any centre of Will’s mind capable of decoding the word. He sucked in a shaky breath.

He looked at Hannibal, then, really looked. Will was ready to speak or maybe to run, he wasn’t sure anymore, but Hannibal was sure. Hannibal was the embodiment of personal assurance. He’d risen to standing, every inch of him carefully choreographed to convey a calm, immovable power. Shoulders low, chest broad, chin high, forearms bare, veined; strong hands ready at his side, stance wide, the fabric of his trousers distorting lines over his muscular thighs. Solid and waiting. Will began to breathe and re-focus. Even as he saw it for exactly the display of dominance it was, something feral in fine tailoring, it set him at ease. A part of his mind sparked a thought about how much easier his dogs settled when it was clear who was pack leader, how the hierarchy calmed them. With a weary resignation, he concluded he may be no different. His pack had him, and he... he could have Hannibal.

Will glanced down the list but they were just words, shapes, they bore no resemblance to the desires that flashed through him.  
“I.. don’t know..” he felt disconnected from his voice, as if he were somewhere far away looking in on the scene

Hannibal studied him with a level of attention usually reserved for art or food, which, Will mused, to Hannibal are very often one and the same.  
“You can imagine liking them all” Hannibal offered it as if it were a truth before Will even recognised it as one.

“Yes”

“Because you can empathise with the motivations in all cases.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re struggling to see how you can know what is truly yours.”

“Half the time I’m not sure there is a “me”, that I’m not a collection of other people’s fragments.”

“You feel fluid, undefined.”

Will relaxed under the words. From the day of their meeting Hannibal seemed to have shown an ability to understand him that Will was unused to. It was uncomfortable at first, the vulnerability, it had stung him as if he’d been flayed – exposed unwillingly to the man, but over time Will found the rawness abate, skin healing over the intrusion. Healing over Hannibal, including him, integrating him. As foreign as his current situation felt, Will had to wonder if there was any other way it could have gone.

Hannibal watched Will slip away from him, back into thought. He stepped forward and took Will’s wrist in his hand. Instinctively Will raised his arm to pull away but Hannibal’s grip just tightened, present and unyielding but just shy of painful. Will felt tethered, like he’d just dropped anchor.

“Boundaries” muttered Hannibal “If you don’t know what is yours and what is theirs we start by defining your edges. Me, not me. How does my hand round your wrist feel?”

“Painful” Will lied

“William, I can assure you that I am well aware of the level of pressure that would damage you or cause you pain. Try again, how does it feel” Hannibal squeezed once more as punctuation. Will desperately struggled for words, there was a word ready on the tip of his tongue, in fact it seemed like the only word in his vocabulary at that moment and yet it was the last thing he wanted to admit. Seconds stretched ahead but Hannibal didn’t falter and the grip on Will’s wrist didn’t vary in pressure at all. Finally, more to break the silence than anything else, Will admitted.

“Safe”

“And how much of that silence was wasted thinking of alternatives to the truth?”

Will simply inclined his head in concession, an unconscious mimicry of Hannibal’s so frequent gesture.

“This is insane, you’re my psychiatrist..”

“You use that title as a blockade to further discussion. I am your friend, and I am inviting you to consider being my lover.”

“You can’t just say things like that, Hannibal.”

“I can, of course. You are unaccustomed to such honesty, but I don’t think you dislike it. I think the ambiguity of most human interaction exhausts you, it is the grit in the shoe, bearable at first but over time blisters and lames.”

“I never know what they want from me.”

“That would never be a problem between us Will.”

“You want to tell me what to do? I feel like I spend my entire life being told what to do, where to go and what to think.”

“Jack ‘asks’ and the weight of societal obligations forces you to oblige against your instinct for self preservation. You’ve suggested to me on several occasions that you’d rather be ordered. Forced. Because the pain it causes you would have feet to lay blame against. That will never happen consulting for the FBI. But it could happen here.”

Hannibal’s hand hadn’t moved from his wrist, but the grip had been replaced with a gentler hold, Hannibal’s thumb brushing softly against Will’s inner wrist. Will considered rather seriously that he may very well be having his pulse taken amidst the caress. Will rubbed a hand across his face, overwhelmed and the questions began to tumble out.

“How would that even work? I don’t want to be some kind of brainless automaton, I can’t give up…”

“Never” Hannibal interrupted him, an unusual step, and Will silenced immediately in shock more than anything else. “Tell me, your dogs, are they brainless automata or are they, as you insist, intelligent beings with independent personalities and preferences?” Hannibal smiled, Will knew he wasn’t exactly a ‘pet’ person and found himself smiling in response to the gentle goading. Another nod, it was safer than answering Hannibal right now. “And yet they live in your house, under your rules, your training and care, and there is no confusion about who owns whom?” In another situation Will could conceive of arguing the latter part, sometimes he did feel that the dogs owned him but he and Hannibal had both made the analogy and, honestly, he didn’t want to fight. The thought of having someone… the thought broke down in Will’s mind and he suddenly found himself tight in the throat, heat around the eyes, panic began to rise again.

“Will,” Hannibal’s voice seemed omnipotent somehow, “you’re tired. Let us retire to bed and continue this discussion in the morning. You will find everything you need in the guest bedroom, third door on the right up the stairs. The bathroom is fully stocked, please help yourself to anything you need and I took the liberty of leaving a book by the bedside. Please read for 45 mins before lights out and if you would be so kind as to avoid using your phone or checking your emails I think it will help you relax.”

Will began to nod gratefully when the thought hit him, “Did you just send me to bed?”

“Yes. Did you like it?” only the tiniest hint of playfulness betrayed him, caught in the corners of his eyes. Will wondered if anyone else would have noticed. He didn’t speak to answer Hannibal, but he smiled as he disentangled his wrist from the other man’s attentions and took himself towards the stairs as requested.

Slipping into a bed softer and more luxurious than any he could recall ever having slept in Will felt something deeper than calm, he struggled to identify, a carelessness, a faith that it’d be okay. Trust. The word sprung under-used to him. A trust. He turned it over in his mind, skeptical, but it seemed to fit. Shifting a few pillows to make himself comfortable he reached for the book on the bedside table. More from curiosity as to what Lecter would have chosen than an intention to read it, he rationalised. The book was beautiful, of course, and old - tan leather with an intricate gold gilt design. He opened it with care and began to read. It took his tired eyes a moment to understand that the title “Pilkas Katinas ir Auksine Žuvis” was in Lithuanian, and then, beneath the title, as beneath each line, a childish hand but unmistakably Hannibal’s an English translation “The Gray Cat and The Goldfish”.

Will put the book aside completely overwhelmed. It had to be Hannibal’s childhood storybook, translated by him as a child, placed here for him tonight. The scale of the gesture brought the burn of near-tears back to Will’s tired and overwrought body. He was exhausted, desperate and somewhat lost within himself otherwise he’d have sworn the emotion that slammed into him then was love. Peeking one more look into the book just to feel that connection again, to the child writing between the lines, becoming the man Will could hear straightening his kitchen downstairs, Will slipped into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be careful what you wish for, Will. You might just get it... ;)

*** *** ***  
Will can visualise the scene if he were looking down at himself from the mezzanine above; knees on the floor, elbows resting on the chaise longue he presumes no one ever uses, head bowed so his forehead gently rests on his clasped hands. His stance appears like a man deep in prayer. And perhaps this is apt, as on the other side of the chaise stands Hannibal.

Even more than usual, Hannibal appears to consume the space around him, his office distorting and shrinking around his figure. Solid, larger than life, elongated like a shadow in the evening as he carefully rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. He is patient in this action, as with all things. His patience, however, does not hide a iron cold streak of intent. 

Will sees himself strain to look at Hannibal from that position, through upper lashes and past tendrils of hair falling over his forehead. Hannibal runs a hand down each bare forearm and smoothes the already crease-free front of his shirt, hands pausing low on his stomach, just where the fabric disappears behind the line of his trousers. Will can hear himself swallow loudly, even over the sound of his pulse beating in his ears.

He cannot drag his eyes from those hands. Nimble fingers untuck the tail of a leather belt from its loop, pulling back with a flash of muscle and vein in the forearm that brings to Will images of Hannibal’s past as a surgeon. Wrist deep in another person, artist’s fingers around a scalpel and arms bloodied fresh from a vein. The sound of metal is vivid in the space as the buckle falls loose. A sense of arousal finds its way through the fog and registers somewhere as fingers tighten and the belt is pulled off and through the loops with a smooth tug. Hannibal folds it double and holds it almost casually to his side.

“You may look at me, Will.”

Will raises his head slowly. From this angle, Hannibal’s eyes are in shadow. There are only dark pools where the colour should be. Hannibal studies him as if to recreate him in art, as art, to transform and elevate him into something more. Will knows what Hannibal sees, he feels lost, tired and desperate – and it shows. It hurts to be in his own mind, overrun by choices made and unmade, his and others, each decision wounds him. Even the ceaseless demands of biology itself cause him pain. To eat, to sleep, to be clean had all become so effortful as to barely seem worth it. For so long he’d fought to be independent, to walk the line between human and monster alone but somewhere along that line he’d slipped and fallen, and he couldn’t tell on which side he’d landed. He was finished, depleted, and drowning in a darkness he’d never felt before. He needed a break from his own self, and he’d barter with the Devil to get one.

“Do you trust me?”

Hannibal’s voice brings him back to the room. Will forces himself not to physically reach towards the sound of it, to think about how grounding that voice can be and how he longs for it sometimes when he is alone. He tries to forget how sometimes he talks to himself _from_ that voice, saying what he needs to hear to get through the day or, often, through the night.

Hannibal cocks his head, he is waiting for an answer. Will manages to nod an affirmation even though the truth is more complex than trust. In this moment, though, Will trusts Hannibal more than himself, which is just enough. 

“This is what you asked for.” 

It rises in tone, as if it were a question but it falls on Will’s ears as a threat. In a flash Hannibal is behind him. He can feel the other man’s feet by his calves as he is straddled from behind; not shoes, socks. Will notices and pushes the thoughts away. To not notice, to not see, is all he wants. He tries to focus on the knees resting against his back, the thighs pressing his shoulders and a strong hand fisting his hair

“Will you cry for me or against me, I wonder?”

Hannibal murmurs softly, almost fondly, turning Will’s head to one side so he can push the bulge of his erection against his cheek, using the hand is his hair to keep him firm as he grinds against him, stubble scraping softly against fine woven wool.

“Either way…” The sound of a zipper acts as punctuation. “..you will cry for me.” 

The feel of leather against his neck, the insistent throb of his own arousal blurred, refocused and were lost.

*** *** ***

Will woke breathless, gasping into the pillow with a creeping sense of unreality. Something wasn’t right. He didn’t know where he was and for a moment thought he had been sleepwalking again. Things smelt wrong, felt… different. He sucked in a shaky breath as his mind placed the shadows before him and slowly, like rusted machinery, things began to click back into place. He started to recognise Hannibal’s immaculate guest room, the outline of the gilt mirror over the small bureau, the silhouette of the door frame that lead to the en suite, the clothes he’d thrown over the chair last night - none of them monsters, serial killers or cannibals. In fact, no hallucinations at all just pieces of a dream slowly coming back to him and… Oh. 

Hannibal. His dream, but also this room and, under his hand still, the book. 

Will sucked in a long breath through his nose, letting himself enjoy the fragrance of clean sheets unsullied by the lingering scent of night sweats or dog, and exhaled relaxing his tense muscles back into the pillows. It was okay. He knew where he was even if, in a manner of speaking, he had no clue why, or what he was doing. Through the crack in the curtains he could see that the sky was beginning to lighten but as his eyes adjusted he could tell there was yet no warmth to the day. Will guessed the time at a little before 6am. Usually when he woke this early he’d get up and let the dogs out but having no such impetus to move, he didn’t. Will lay, his mind spinning with fragments of Hannibal’s list, wondering if it could be at all true, half afraid it was another elaborate trick of his mind. 

*** *** ***

Will woke again to a soft knocking at the door.

“Good morning Will, may I come in? I took the liberty of making us coffee.”

“What time is it?” a muffled and groggy voice escapes from the room

“A little after 9am. I called Jack - I understand you’re not needed today and you have no scheduled teaching hours.”

Will rubbed his eyes. He must have gone back to sleep. After he’d woken he’d lain with his thoughts for a long while, before using the bathroom and settling back in with Hannibal’s storybook, tracing the young man’s clumsy calligraphy and attempting to pronounce some of his native tongue. Will had wondered how it would sound to have Hannibal's accented voice speak to him in the language that first shaped it. Wondering, not for the first time, exactly how many languages had since shaped that accent. That voice that now left Will disoriented and slightly on a back foot as Hannibal came to wake him up bringing him, trying to bring him coffee, yes - 

“Come in! Sorry, yeah come in. I’m, uh, in bed...”

Hannibal opened the door, tray balanced on the inside of his left arm, already in a full suit and tie - pale blue wool with a shot of grey patterning in Lecter’s custom plaid, a shirt that looked like molten metal and a tie that pulled an almost rose or terracotta colour from the wool that Will wouldn't otherwise have noticed. Will couldn’t tell if it was more surprising that he was already formally dressed, or whether he really expected anything else. Jeans? Boxers? Will’s cock twitched slightly under the covers at the thought... 

“It’s a Yellow Bourbon from Santa Lucia, Brazil” Hannibal announced lowering the tray to the bureau and holding a mug out to Will. “Did you sleep?”

Will sits up in bed and takes the offered coffee, immediately bringing it to his mouth for a sip; a soft awareness somewhere within him that Hannibal would only serve it at the correct drinking temperature. 

“Wow, this is good...” he takes a second sip “...and you know I slept”

“I do. But it is polite to enquire” A flash of a smile crosses Hannibal’s features as his eyes skim the younger man’s chest, naked above the covers. His glance was intentionally fleeting enough not to be uncomfortable for Will yet leisurely enough to ensure it would be seen “I’m glad you like the coffee. Will you join me for breakfast?” 

“Sure, I’ll be down in a minute” 

“Take your time.” Hannibal hesitated a moment in thought before adding “...and as I believe you left your overnight bag in the car, you may wish to know that there are some clean clothes in your size in the wardrobe and undergarments in the drawers.” Hannibal raised a hand to stop Will from the interjection visible on the younger man’s face “I assure you it was presumptuousness of quite another sort that prompted me to buy them. For a time it seemed your health was what would drive you to my door." Another pause, and then in a voice impossibly imbued with promise "I am gratified that, in the end, it was not.”

Will wasn’t sure it mattered why Hannibal planned for his eventual appearance in this room, or whether his tone suggested that the Doctor was not unaware that his ‘mistake’ leaving his things in the car was more a ploy to keep one foot out of the door, just in case. He wasn’t even sure that he minded he’d called Jack to glean his schedule.

Because as the door clicked shut the only sensations he were left with, were relaxation, relief, and a guilty little flush of joy at the thought of Hannibal pre-empting his needs...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was half a beat too late to be plausible. Will realised the moment he'd said it. Hannibal simply looked at Will like you might look at a small impudent child until he began to speak.."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a short chapter, but I figured I've been away for a while so even something small was better than nothing. Enjoy! ;)

There was nothing said that morning at breakfast, or in the immediate days to come. In fact, Hannibal waited until the precise moment Will dropped his guard, the moment he stopped expecting the topic to arise, before he reopened the matter. 

Whether it was calculated, or so practiced as to be unconscious Will didn't know. It was, in either case however, most certainly not a coincidence.

***

Silence had fallen part way through one of their regular therapy sessions. It was by no measure an uncomfortable lack of verbal communication and so Will was surprised to hear Hannibal break the silence. Usually the ‘Psychiatrist’ waited for his ‘Patient’ to do that. (Will had mentally added air quotes to that terminology ever since he stayed the night and left in perfectly fitting new clothes. Clothes which he had quietly not returned and had since caught Hannibal smiling at as they became regular rotations in his staple wardrobe...)

“What do you know of protocol Will?” Hannibal enounced carefully as if he wasn’t throwing an un-pinned grenade into a still lake.

“Protocol for what?”

It was half a beat too late to be plausible. Will realised the moment he'd said it. Hannibal simply looked at Will like you might look at a small impudent child until he began to speak..

“Like.. kneeling or calling you...” Will found himself unable to finish the sentence.

Hannibal’s face flickered a smile. Will wondered how he did it. It was like a subliminal message sandwiched between frames - too fast to see, and yet you just knew you'd seen it there somehow. 

“...Master?” Hannibal supplied a possible ending to Will's aborted sentence with the barest hint of a raised eyebrow, overjoyed to see Will’s face contort with distaste and.. shame? Hannibal made a mental note of that most powerful of feelings. “Yes,” Hannibal went on before Will could derail them “honorifics and kneeling can be part of protocol.”

Will shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

“I uh.. I wasn’t sure you’d reopen this line of discussion.” 

“Whyever not?”

Hannibal leaned forward, palms together, back in his Therapist-stance. Will bristled further at the gesture but realised he had no answer. The possibility that the older man had changed his mind was slim – every action Hannibal initiated was carefully thought through at all times. Similarly there is no chance that Hannibal would simply have forgotten. It was here Will realised the game had already begun. Catching him on a back foot was entirely the plan. Hannibal had him exactly where he wanted him. 

“Because I underestimated you.” 

The honesty prompted a full smile from Hannibal. 

“Yes, Will. You did.” Hannibal stood and moved behind Will’s seat leaning slightly to whisper in his ear as he continued “You wont do that again, will you boy?”

An involuntary shudder ripped up Will’s spine, lowering his chin and pooling heat at his groin. He kept his head low to hide what felt like a visible blush and forced himself to breathe. His heart seemed to lurch unstable in his chest and his mind split clear into an uncommon silence and a desperate cry as to how, why, and again _how_ some carefully enunciated words from this man could leave him feeling so out of control. 

“Boy?” Hannibal prompted, and Will realised he was expecting an answer

“No, sorry.” he half stuttered. 

“No, _Sir_.” Hannibal corrected. 

Will audibly moaned, embarrassed. A heavy silence crept back into the room, slid in from behind the curtains, circled the mezzanine, drifted down the ladder like mist and engulfed the usually large and airy room. Hannibal lay a hand on Will’s shoulder, gentle at first; almost reassuring, before blunt finger tips began gradually digging in and under clavicle and scapula. Finally, Will broke the silence,

“No Sir” he said, calmly, quietly, voice raw with need and so much shame. Hannibal felt his cock stir in his pants at the perfectly warring 'want' and 'loathing' he heard there.

“Good boy. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Hannibal removed his hand from Will’s shoulder, the grip had gotten so strong that the pain blossomed only as the pressure was released and Will let out a small huff of pain as he watched the other man return to his own chair.

“Now,” Hannibal straightened his suit as he sat “what would you like to discuss? We have almost 20 minutes remaining and,” he paused, smiling broadly and inclining his head “it is your time, dear Will.” 

Will watched the mask slip back into place with an equal mixture of awe, lust and bone-deep hatred. He resolved to sit the remaining 20 minutes in silence.


End file.
